Change in Judgement
By: Scott Sousa
707-B. Designed to kill bed bugs but it works better as a pork marinade. I smothered my pork chops in it and lit a cigarette. It tastes like motor oil but I've never been a great judge of food so I'll disregard what my mouth is telling me.
I smoked a hit of D.M.T. I had lying around and here's what went down: Nothing too exciting.
I fucked it up. Didn't smoke enough. Choked on the smoke and exhaled too soon. Missed out. Sat at a differing angle. Changed my judgment, said, "fuck it" and went to a local bar to forget about it all.
I'm not sure if I experienced residual effects from the D.M.T. but shit got weird when the French girl with the accordion got on stage to sing about penises. Then there was the other girl, Melissa. She was cute but I lost track of her in an unconventional burrito. Sad claims to make but this is how it happens. Beg to differ? Fuck that. This IS how it happens.
JubJubTheRhino – Sweaters of Youth & Misery
By: Scott Sousa
JubJubTheRhino - Sweaters of Youth & Misery
JubJubTheRhino is not an artist you can easily tame. He's also not an easy one to find. I'm serious. Ask any douchey hipster if they've heard of JubJubTheRhino and they'll all say no. And if they say yes they're fucking lying. Unless you know him personally you probably haven't heard any of his music, until now. Here's a small sample of his work packaged together as a digital EP I like to call Sweaters of Youth & Misery.
Not sure whether or not you want to spend 5 minutes downloading a 25 MB zip file? Here's an even smaller sample to wet your beak.
JubJubTheRhino - Method To Your Madness
Tracklisting:
1. Method to Your Madness
2. Hey, Don't You Wish I was Smarter
3. Loneliest Man in Town
4. Blue Skies and Rhino Fries
5. Countryfest in Pink
The Photons of Our Being
By: Scott Sousa
"These lights flashed in the sky and I swear it was a U.F.O."
"A U.F.O.? How do you know?"
"They were big lights. Trust me. I know it sounds crazy but they zig-zagged and changed colors and then they disappeared."
"Look, Mr. Sellick, it seems like you're describing a fighter jet, or perhaps a weather balloon."
"A ha! A weather balloon. That's how you government men describe it on T.V."
The shrooms were kicking in and watched the lights on the RFK twinkle. A few weeks ago I started a clerical job with the United States Postal Police and now I'm being labeled a government man like I actually give a shit about lights.
"They talked to me, man."
"What do you mean?"
"They spoke to me, telepathically or telekinetically or what ever the hell it is. And even though I didn't want to respond they forced me to."
"Did they waterboard your sense of integrity?"
"It was like deep down, I formulated a response, but I didn't want them to hear it but they heard it anyway."
"How did the conversation go?"
"They said, 'We have come from Uranus'," he said laughing uncontrollably.
"You son of a bitch."
We laughed some more and the occasional person would walk by and see us sitting on the roof of this black car and they would hear us laughing and talking and they would stare at us but we didn't care.
The lights on the RFK began to sway and they lifted themselves, changing shapes.
"Holy shit..." I said.
40 St. & Lowery
By: Scott Sousa
It was way too late for me to be out considering I had to work in the morning but I said fuck it I might as well have a good time and see friends I hadn't seen in ages.
We had a great time. We drink beer and ate pizza and watched a certain cartoon from out childhood that featured a certain comedian who would later go crazy and shave his head.
An artifact of our youth. Things change so quickly and it's generational. When I see what cartoons kids watch today I am appalled. The cartoons I watched were exceptionally violent in comparison and the violence was rarely explained. Psychotic cats didn't need a reason to try and detonate a small mouse with 20 lbs of explosives. It just could. It was natural. It happened in real life.
When I came of age I realized the only real difference between reality and those cartoons was the lack of dynamite in real life, and even then I can think of some exceptions to that. Those senselessly violent cartoons prepped me for the real world.
So when I sat at the el train platform at 2 a.m. watching some drunk woman lean against the wall and puke, I couldn't help but laugh. Not because it was funny but because I've been there many times before. There was a brief moment of solidarity between that barfing woman and myself - being unable to say no to the last six shots of whiskey and thinking, "I can handle it." Even when the last one goes down and we know deep down we are going to vomit we think, "FUCK IT MAN I'M WITH GOOD PEOPLE DON'T TRY AND RUIN MY FUN YOU FUCKING STOMACH."
The woman stopped puking and adjusted her posture. She swayed in place and spit a few times - told old trick to get the taste of vomit and liquor out of your mouth while convincing your stomach you don't need to puke anymore. It never works, but what the hell, it's worth a shot.
Sure enough she threw up again and this time I laughed because I thought it was funny. Just like those cartoons.
Lacking
By: Scott Sousa
They whispered and giggled. They were all alone and had nothing to hide but that surely didn't stop them from enjoying the thrill of sharing their secrets.
Bill and Donnie walked in. Rachel and Denise, caught in the headlights of a semi that has no intention of braking, stopped, stunned, and stared at the men only to succumb to the sudden urge to crack up.
The women laughed and the men walked past, not really knowing what to think. They sit down in the living room and Bill turns on the t.v.
"Have you ever gone to the bathroom to take a piss and found a very long hair mingling with your carnival when there's no reason for one to be there?"
"What do you mean?"
"I mean, you haven't been with a woman in a while, and out of the blue you pull out your snake to refill the Hudson and there's a long hair wrapped around your straw. Has that ever happened to you?"
"Well, could it be due to poor personal care?"
"I don't go more than a week without whacking the weeds. And what are the odds I've been missing this one hair all these years only to have it fall out suddenly?"
"Wait, are you telling me you haven't dipped your pen in Rachel's ink in a while?"
"It's this thing we've been trying out recently that's supposed to get us to bond. She gets sauced by another guy while I watch."
"That's fucked." Bill smirked.
"Ha ha, funny."
"How did you get roped into something as crazy as that?"
"Our marriage counselor suggested it. She said it would help me feel connected to her."
"Does it work?"
"The first few times it pissed me off so now I just bring a book to keep my mind off it."
"Do you at least get to putt in some other chick's green in front of your wife?"
"No."
"That's like... feminism out of control or something, man. You got to put an end to that."
Donnie shrugs. "The only thing I can really do -"
The door to the apartment was broken down and two men wielding shotguns raced in, and in a panic, they immediately fired shots at Rachel and Denise. The men, realizing they shouldn't have been so hasty, bolted.
Bill and Donnie ran into the kitchen and found their wive's brains splattered on the floor and walls.
"Bad ass," Donnie says and they high-fived.
Reality sets in. Donnie awoke from his dream and cut off a stream of spit that had begun to drip down onto his mediocre book as Denise moaned, "Harder, Rex, harder."
He watched Rex's balls slap against his wife's pelvis for a moment and tried to regain interest in his novel...
Pastry
By: Scott Sousa
Stop. Just a second. Memories flooding. Vague. Like being in a foggy room with a fogged up mirror trying to figure out whether or not the straight-edge razor is going to kill you... (Editor's Note: Vague, like this paragraph.)
Memories of my eclairs and my father. Every Sunday he would come home with a dozen from the bakery. Every Sunday he would say, "Let's make this last."
By the end of every Sunday night they were all devoured. A house of sticky fingers: My sister, my mother, my father and I.
Even when my parents hated each other the eclairs kept the family together. It was therapy - stuffing our faces with dough and chocolate and creme. It was certainly cheaper than marriage counseling.
Fast forward seventeen years. Nothing has changed. We all still eat eclairs. Just not together.
Next of Kin
By: Scott Sousa
You know the moment the phone begins to ring that it is going to be bad news. Something about the ring or the time of day or the person whose name shows up the caller i.d. tells us that it is not a phone call we want to receive but have to answer. It was 11 pm when my phone rang. It was my mother, gasping.
"Your uncle died," she cried.
My uncle was a textbook example of someone who noticed an abnormal growth on his skin and chose to ignore it. The next thing he knew he had several malignant tumors all over his body. His doctor told him to quit drinking.
"Whaddayah mean quit drinking? What does drinking have to do with skin cancer? Nothing! That's what," he slurred.
"But-"
"But nothing! I know what you think of me, Mr. College Graduate. Poor, dumb fuck of an old man and his dumb fucking dirty blue collar. I'll show you something they probably didn't teach you at Harvard!" and he swung at the doctor, busting three of his teeth.
Soon after the restraining order was filed a doctor at another hospital gave him four to six months to live without treatment. That was eight years ago.
I pictured my uncle's wake: Relatives grieving, distillery execs posthumously awarding him medals for his dedication to the industry and an open bar for those who chose not to cry.
In reality his wake was odiously beautiful. My father gave the eulogy.
"Jack was... Well, he was a man with crude intentions and an impeccable taste for liquor."
People began to whisper and I was in nearly in tears trying to hold back my laughter.
"One must wonder how many diseases could have been cured with the money he spent on brandy and vodka."
He paused, surveying the stupefied looks on people's faces.
"But, as his family and friends, we must remember that not all of Jack's life was negative. He never once got a D.U.I. How this is possible no one will ever know because our Lord works in mysterious ways. Thank you."
Everyone silently watched him step down from the podium in front of the casket, except for me, I was trying my best to mask my hysteric laughter as crying. My cousin rose reached out and put her hand on my shoulder, saying "It'll be okay. Be strong."
We all knew that although my father's eulogy was grossly inappropriate that he was right. Everyone left the funeral home that night without saying goodbye.
The Fisherman
By: Scott Sousa
It was a beautiful evening and for some reason, I don't know why exactly, I decided to shower and dress nicely before I went out and made a complete buffoon of myself. I don't usually mind embarrassing myself but it bothers others - So fuck 'em, I'll shed what scraps of dignity I have left in style.
I've amassed this collection of nice clothing that was picked out by previous girlfriends in their attempts to gentrify me for whatever reason. It itched the shit out of me but I would become so hopelessly whipped that I'd wear a sundress to impress their family and friends if it meant I was going to get laid.
So whenever I'm on the prowl I pick out something one of these jinnis manifested. It always appeared to me that if women sensed that I've committed to sharing my vital fluids with only one female they flock to me as if they have some primordial urge to take what shouldn't be theirs. So I occasionally dress the part and hope for the best.
Tonight the hot water was running especially hot. It felt re-energizing, especially on my tense and mangled back. I had not cherished it when I was younger. I closed my eyes and thought of all those times I could have lifted with my knees instead...